


Raising The Bar

by gala_apples



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Collars, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Secret Crush, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-10 16:50:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12916137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: AHWU has gotten much more entertaining since they added the mailbag section. It’s pretty hard to beat a bouncy castle. Isn’t it?





	Raising The Bar

It’s not like any of the main room are avoidant of mail-day poor life choices. Maybe Geoff-- His soul is so crushed there’s no room left for shenanigans. But Ryan has a truly formidable weapon collection that he likes to juggle at random. Gavin keeps creating games that are half for Olympic hopefuls, half for the kinkily masochistic. Jeremy can admit he’s made a few bad choices when it comes to food. That all said, Jeremy never expected to enter the poor decision realm of _whether it’s appropriate to bust a nut at work_.

His weakness for Michael is well-known on many levels. The audience knows of it on the level of him never actively proclaiming hate for Michael, which he does with Geoff and Gavin, and in this case the absence of the standard negative is a rare positive. Gavin knows it in that he acts like he’s discovered a cheat code; attempt to bet Michael with half a dozen ludicrous and dangerous activities and a few will trickle down to Jeremy. The deepest level is Geoff being the only one in the office to know he’s bi, and more than that, has feelings about the perpetually single Michael Jones.

It all comes down to chance. If Jack or Ryan had opened it, it probably would have been tossed straight away. If Gavin, another weird against OSHA game. But it’s Michael who opens the small package addressed to the main room. It’s Michael who pulls out a black leather collar. And it’s Michael who decides that, just like the nurse outfit, the boxers at RTX 2015, and the lady killer sweater, this is something that the audience wants to see. For some reason unknown even to God, he puts it on.

Jeremy is electrocuted into dead silence as Michael straps the leather around his own neck. Anything he could say would only draw attention to himself, but it’s not for self-preservation that he doesn’t speak. His brain just drops the feed to his mouth. He doesn’t even blame his poor overloaded think-box. Who _could_ manage coherence with a thin inch of black bisecting Michael’s neck, meeting in the middle of his adam’s apple by way of a large silver ring? It’s just impossible.

Eventually self preservation kicks in. Jeremy retreats from the main camera area to his desk so he can start setting up the transport needed in GTA. It’s basically busywork until Jack and Trevor and Matt get in, but it gives him good reason to be at his computer instead of wandering through the room contributing comments and opening presents like he normally would.

In an instant it happens. Michael looks over and notices that Jeremy is hard before Jeremy can notice that Michael is looking at him. Jeremy turns his chair the moment he sees Michael’s focus of attention, but it’s too late. He’s been outed. To Michael, of all conceivable people. It’s Jeremy’s worst nightmare. Maybe he would have come out eventually. Jon and Mariel both managed with no big fuss. But that would definitely have waited until Jeremy felt like he’d gotten over him, until he had nothing to hide anymore. This is nowhere _close_ to that time.

Michael’s reaction is... not what Jeremy would have expected. First he makes a groan of disgust, and Jeremy feels like he’s covered in lightning. All of his skin is crawling, and an instant headache is coming on. Michael’s going to point out exactly what has disgusted him, and Jeremy’s going to have to go jump off of a bridge. But he’s going to be a goddamn man about it. He twists his chair back to look in Michael’s direction, as do a few of the other guys in the room. If Michael’s going to call him out, he’s going to do it holding eye contact. Except instead Michael throws a hand to his stomach, and curls over himself. “Oh, fuck. Ughh. I’m constipated as fuck.”

“Oh no, boi,” Gavin says.

Michael turns to look Jeremy directly in the eye. “I’m going to the shitter. Might not come out until _something happens_.”

That means something, right? It has to mean something. Jeremy’s got a life long relationship with Fate saying it’s something, and after Fate has pulled through on the big stuff, like winning bronze at the biggest gymnastics event he ever attended, and a job at Rooster Teeth, Jeremy tries to listen to the sense that certain things are meant to be.

There’s not a lot of stealth ways to directly follow Michael out of the room, but Jeremy tries to brainstorm. He considers for the briefest of moments making a big deal of taking a camera with him like he’s gonna go cause a ruckus somewhere, but that’s rejected. What if Gavin or Trevor wants to join in? Jeremy also rejects the idea of claiming he has a meeting. It just raises too many questions, like what is it that can’t be said by text or slack, that only pertains to him. Not to mention the other party might be asked something and, fairly, be completely clueless and not cover for him. In the end it’s easiest to just leave the room without saying anything at all.

Michael is not actually in the nearest washroom. For a moment Jeremy feels sick. Sad and pathetic. Is he really that desperate that he interpreted Michael needing to have a dump as being all about him? Talk about stereotypical queer, picking up signals that aren’t there from the straight boy. Except, no. If Michael really did just need to crap instead of trading handjobs, he totally would be in one of these stalls, making it reek. The only thing that makes sense is he must have taken advantage of Rooster Teeth being a more multi-platform company than ever. The live action production staff have tiny bathrooms with individual toilets and showers for when the slime or blood or dirt has to go under the collar and past the hems.

With the confidence that only the horny can have, Jeremy knocks on the first locked door and calls out in a fierce whisper “Michael?” Fuck, please let him be right. Please let him be right.

His answer comes in the form of the door clicking as it unlocks. Jeremy’s stomach hurts. He’s on the precipice of success, yeah. But that only means if Michael pulls out a camera to document the joke -or even more terrifyingly, it is queerbait and now he’s going to kick the shit out of him- this is the moment he falls off the cliff into brutal jagged rocks. But there’s no way, right? He’s corrected Gavin’s pronouns for Kdin, he’s laughed at Geoff’s circlejerk stories, he’s never been weird around Max Krumke or Patrick. He can’t be Westboro Church in a New Jersey package. “Michael?”

“Hey,” Michael says in return. This doesn’t look like a set up. Michael seems totally normal, apart from the fetish-wear that Jeremy is having trouble looking away from. The anxiety melts away as quickly as it flared up.

“Was that a summons, or just overshare about your bowels?”

Michael drops onto his knees, light coloured denim totally incongruous with the faux woodgrain linoleum. He arches his head back so the leather cinched around his throat is bared. The light makes the O-ring glint. “What do you think?”

Jeremy is frozen for an eternity, the lifespan of a star. There’s no way this is actually happening, right? Fate guiding him towards goodness or not, this is insane.

Jeremy suddenly thinks of two thick bands of tough leather wrapped around both of Michael’s biceps, the muscles he’s working so hard to enhance. They would pin Michael’s arms to his side, and a strap connecting them across his back would prevent him from struggling for leverage. That mental image is the last straw. Jeremy shrugs off his overshirt, and impatiently tugs the hem out of his jeans so the undershirt can go next. He might not need to get naked right away, but he can at least flash some skin in a way that Michael might be into. He knows barrel chested isn’t a body type for everyone, but considering Michael’s actively working towards it, Jeremy’s feeling pretty confident. Pretty _hot_.

Michael knee walks a few steps closer until he’s within touching distance. It’s not quite crawling to master, but it’s a hell of a lot more than Jeremy could have reasonably expected. Michael snakes his arms around Jeremy’s hips to grab his ass and pull him in closer. Like he would have resisted. Michael breathes heavily on his groin, face a weight on his upper thigh. Jeremy bites his lips as he feels the noticeable difference in temperature. Even if Michael nopes out in the next second, Jeremy will always have this sensation. He’ll jerk off to Michael’s hot breath gliding over his dick for the next twenty years.

Jeremy runs his fingers through Michael’s hair -not the loose mass of curls it used to be, but it’s still got some texture- before letting his right hand drift lower to Michael’s neck. The collar feels as prominent as it looked. It’s a ridge against Michael’s throat that separates the valleys between normal and kinky. In this moment he feels like he could stand like this for hours, holding Michael in place with a simmer of lust never quite boiling over. That’s the kind of kink, though, that needs a lot of negotiation first. Daydreams aside, Jeremy knows that’s not what’s going on here. He pulls his hand back up and uses both to push Michael’s head away from his junk. Not that he really wants to escape that hot air, but he needs the room to get his pants down.

It’s the work of seconds to get his dick out. Michael’s face looks so good, freckled and waiting, that Jeremy almost hates to bring him back close and obscure it. He’s a little too into this, he thinks. He cares more than Michael does. But he’s dominant, and that feeling of desperation to control and protect is never going to go away, so better to just deal with it. Sooner or later he’ll find someone who wants to be the recipient of all those strong feelings. Until then Jeremy knows he needs to chill the fuck out, and offer only as much dominance as his partner will accept.

Michael doesn’t have much finesse. There’s not a lot of technique, like concentrating on the head, or following the veins. What he does have working in his favour is an apparent lack of reflex. It makes sense, Jeremy figures with the tiny fraction of brain he has that’s not fixated on the experience. How many early days videos are there of Michael eating some horrifying crap and downing it without blinking while people like Burnie and Gav die one bite in? His throat must be hella desensitized. Still, Jeremy doesn’t feel too bad for not making the logic leap of ‘can drink a full bottle of barbeque sauce without gagging’ to ‘can swallow my cock without gagging’. In fact, he’s sort of happy he didn’t waste months daydreaming all iterations of it. Michael’s skill is a pleasant surprise. You could even say a mind fuck, based on the way Jeremy thinks his entire conscious being might fucking combust and burn to nothing. Michael’s nose is against his pubes, literally there, which means he’s easily accepting six inches of cock. 

With the last vestiges of brainpower he pulls out. He needs to make sure Michael is okay with this, that it’s not just what he thinks Jeremy wants. What if he actually hates deepthroating, but previous lovers have demanded it? It’s only hot to demand when both parties have agreed to put demanding on the table.

 

“Should we- shit, fuuuck.” Michael’s chosen to ignore Jeremy’s move of pulling out, he’s gone right back to sucking him. It’s a bit of a struggle to focus, but Jeremy continues his line of thought. “Should we pick safewords or something?” All the porn that Jeremy watches that’s not completely ludicrous and terrible have subs picking them out, even if they never use them.

Michael’s the one to move away this time, just enough so to look Jeremy in the face so he can see his unimpressed raised eyebrows. “I’m blowing you, we’re not dripping hot candlewax up my asshole. We’re fine.”

“Okay. Uh, but-”

Michael doesn’t let him stay on that track any longer. He resumes the blowjob and it cuts all of Jeremy’s coherence. See, the problem -does it count as a problem if it’s awesome?- is this time it’s different. Michael’s started like, humming or talking to himself or something. Jeremy would find it endearing, the way Michael’s never stops talking, if he wasn’t gripping the sink counter trying to not fall over. The vibrations- christ on a dinner plate, Jeremy can feel every single vibration.

He loses control for a moment when he comes. Yet another thing they didn’t lay down guidelines for; fluid exchange. Only in this case Jeremy doesn’t give Michael much of a choice. He slips his fingertips between the collar and Michael’s neck and all but holds him in place. Jeremy can feel Michael’s throat quivering as he swallows. It might be one of the best orgasms of his life, or at least one most true to his kinky fantasies.

Of course, next up is making this as good for Michael as it has been for him. Jeremy’s mind runs wild with scenarios. He wants to tie Michael with both their belts like a really thick shibari and blow him. He wants to make Michael keep blowing him until he gets hard again and can fuck him. He wants Michael to be submissive enough to be okay with not coming because his master did. He wants to spank Jersey Boy until he comes from sensation alone, crying, body confused if it’s in agony or ecstasy. However, none of those have been negotiated for, and Jeremy’s well aware that they’re odd enough choices that he can’t just start doing one.

“Stand up, man.”

Michael does, still licking his lips. Licking up the spunk that overflowed from his open mouth. Honest to god, Jeremy might have to draw this from memory at home tonight. Jeremy unbuckles Michael’s belt and tugs down his jeans. That Michael’s letting him be a little rough isn’t surprising at this point, but it still thrills him.

Barring other, more extreme options, Jeremy decides on a handjob. Who doesn’t like a handjob? He spits into his hand to ease the stroke, but Michael is evidently the kind of guy who produces precome like a mo’fo. Each pass from head to base and back Michael feels a little wetter. As he gets closer to the edge he curls down on himself again, this time a genuine movement. His forehead ends up buried in Jeremy’s shoulder and they have enough height difference that it’s actually a significant bend. For the second time today, Jeremy has to bite the inside of his cheek as he feels Michael’s hot damp breath heat his skin. A newfound kink of his, apparently, though god knows how he’ll search for it on XTube.

Jeremy’s careful about the angle of Michael’s cock when he comes. Thank the Gods of Quick Cleanup, it ends up mostly on the floor instead of on their clothes.

Michael doesn’t seem to be one for a long afterglow. Or maybe it’s just the circumstances. Either way, he’s picking up his jeans far before Jeremy’s ready to stop looking at his hot, spent body. It’s Jeremy’s cue to rinse his hands in the sink and start fixing his own clothes. His undershirt gets stuck to his sweaty skin, and it’s a bitch and a half to tug it into place.

There they are, both standing dressed and ready for life to go on. Except Jeremy’s not completely sure how to make that happen. “What do we do now?”

“Well you should go find some shit to explain why you’ve been gone, and I’m gonna play Crossy Road on my phone for ten minutes to really drive home the illusion of ass-shattering fast food shits.”

“Um, okay. Yeah that makes sense.” Fuck, what did he even say when he left the room? It was less than twenty minutes ago, but his brain has offloaded that memory to better imprint this one.

Michael watches for a minute then continues, “but that’s clearly not what you meant, because you’re still standing here, so, what?”

Man is this not the sweetest post-orgasm pillow talk Jeremy’s ever had. And definitely nothing like how his aftercare kink fantasies go either. “I dunno.”

“Jeremy!” Michael snaps.

“Look, do you want to play video games after work maybe. Or maybe more sex?”

“Depends. Do you want me to keep the collar?”

How in the sweet fucking hell is Jeremy supposed to answer that? The honest answer is Jeremy has spent the last ten years gathering a porn collection where two or more individuals do brutal shit, exert each other enough that it has to end with cuddling and soothing words and spreading arnica over the worst of the bruises. But if Michael doesn’t lean that way -and honestly all accounts point to Michael having more of a dressing up fetish than anything else- it might be off-putting as fuck. Why else would he ask, if it wasn’t a deal maker or breaker?

Jeremy goes with honesty, as clueless as it makes him seem. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

Michael makes a face at him. “Step one. If you want us to do shit, be more fucking decisive.”

Uggggh. Here goes nothing, and by nothing he means his sex life and his future of being happy. “Fine. Have it around your neck and wear something that goes with it, when I come over at nine.”

Michael laughs, a big smirking thrilled chuckle, like it’s the middle of Off Topic and someone just fucked up pouring their beer. “That’s more like it, Lil J.”

Jeremy knows he’s sealed his professional doom. He’s absolutely going to flub a hundred times the rest of the day, every time he thinks about Michael naked except for a collar and wristcuffs thick like the sweat bracelets he always used to wear when Jeremy was still a fan. Or maybe it’ll be leather with leather, the collar and jeans tight enough to show off his ass and a GTA style bomber jacket with no shirt underneath. Or hell, maybe Michael’s got a slutty club kid persona; the collar and a mesh shirt and electric blue short shorts. It seems unlikely, but so did the latex fetish nurse outfit.

“Earth to Lil J. Go the fuck back to work, I’ll be out in a bit.”

Yeah, he’s already doing it. There goes any nice future YouTube comments for today’s uploadable content. Still, it’s a small price to pay for knowing Michael’s got the residue of his come on his tongue until he drinks his next beer, and that that and more will happen tonight.


End file.
